


Etiquette: Heaven

by Ira_Dunfort



Series: The Grey Fledgling [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A Second South Downs Cottage, Attempt at Humor, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gabriel Cooks, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kid Fic, M/M, Oral Sex, Paperwork, Porn with Feelings, Pregnancy, She/Her Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Sleepy Sex, Smut, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 15:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21273554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ira_Dunfort/pseuds/Ira_Dunfort
Summary: The one in which we take a look at who does what in Heaven, how rules can be broken and why Beelzebub almost feels embarrassed on several occasions.She wants to talk to her lawyer.





	Etiquette: Heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eshnoazot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eshnoazot/gifts), [AEpixie7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AEpixie7/gifts), [CodenameCarrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameCarrot/gifts), [PeachGO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGO3/gifts).

> Excuse me, my dear readers, but we have to establish a few things about who does what and which fancy title they have been given. Some might call it worldbuilding, but to be honest with you, I was just having fun with words when I couldn't sleep. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Let's begin at the top. Naturally, at the very top, on what people imagine to be something between the fluffiest cloud, a palace or the most spacious office with the best view over all of Creation, there was God. She had always been there, and She meant to stay. No one knew the number to her office. She called you, not the other way around. If you needed clarifications on instructions, you didn't ask. You don't get to _question God_. 

Most of Her messages were handled by Metatron, Communications Coordinator of Heaven. She gave him what She deemed to be all the information needed and Metatron spread Her word to the respective offices. All attempted calls and prayers to Her went to him. _To_ him, not _through_ him, mind you. 

Sandalphon was deemed Head of Edicts. It hadn't been his first assigned role, but his methods in Sodom and Gomorrah forced God Herself to drag him back and set him up in a quiet office, away from weapons of mass destruction, and have him speak the law, not execute it. Too often he had used the wiggle room of ambiguous instructions to commit genocide. He did get _creative_ after that. The judgement to have the one common language split into hundreds in Babel, that had been him. A nightmare when it came to paperwork. They feared him as much as they feared the law. It worked. 

If you were inclined to doubt God, which by all means you _shouldn't_, you'd ask yourself why such a sadistic angel was still Up There. The answer is simple: he didn't ask questions. God appreciates that.

Archangel Uriel was or is Head of Terrestrial Operations and Celestial Defenses. Sandalphon ruled that a city of sinners was to be levelled, she saw that it was done properly. Nephilim had to be rounded up and taken out? She made sure there were no survivors. She was pragmatic, effective, and angels bid her every word. After the world didn't end, no one knew exactly what was to happen with the heavenly police and military she commanded. There had been no word from God about it, so recruits kept being drilled into perfect obedience as if The War was yet to come.

Another of the aforementioned offices belonged to the aloof archangel Micheal who was granted to be Head of Legislative (and Intelligence, but no one needed to know that). Thing is, Michael didn't _write_ the law. Micheal studies what the Almighty has said and done and tries her best to put her observations into laws, rules, guidelines. But since God is a moody creature with a tendency for both violent wrath and selective overflowing mercy, Michael's job was hard. She had to double-check and cross-reference every finding with millennia of divine tantrums, centuries of silence on delicts She used to strike down, and try to find the pattern. It was maddening, but it was her job, and she did the best she could.

God's laws were messy. When you broke them, Her reactions, Her punishments, they were unpredictable. It forced everyone through constant paranoid self-consciousness to be on their best behaviour, hoping it was _good enough_ for Her. 

Gabriel looked at the slumbering Beelzebub in their bed. The Prince of Hell had clear rules. She had defined limits, she warned you when you overstepped, she told you in detail what she would do to you if you did. She could be cruel, but she was _fair_.

Gabriel liked this about her, a lot. He found comfort in it. He felt at ease with her. How ironic, for an archangel to find peace in love with a prince of Hell, with a demon who was, in this moment, wearing his purple henley shirt, lavender perfume sticking to her skin. The sight of it made Gabriel's celestial heart skip a beat. He loved her so much, sometimes it was hard to contain. 

He took a deep breath to focus himself. 

You don't simply wake sleeping demons. This was a commonly known rule Gabriel had accepted for millennia. But, according to Beelzebub, rules were meant to be tested and pushed to see if they hold up, if they are true. You could certainly wake a demon. You might lose a limb or two if you did it wrong. Therefore, you don't simply wake a sleeping demon, _unless_ the demon in question had told you exactly how they wanted to be woken, and you did precisely as you were asked. Negotiations were needed, new ground rules had to be laid out, a deal to be made. Which is why Gabriel now carefully slipped the duvet aside, quietly settled on the mattress and let his head sink into the demon's lap, tongue tentatively gracing her uncovered lips before pushing in between them to tease at her clit.

There was a moan, sluggish movements of her legs as they fell apart for him. He looked up at Beelzebub, but her eyes were still closed. He pressed his tongue flat against her, using it to spread her lips and create slick pressure. Another moan, entirely unguarded, and he saw her blue eyes fluttering open just enough to peek at him as she stirred. The sight of the archangel made her keen, the sound breathless, head dropping right back into the pillows. 

This was what she had asked for. Demons are creative beings. She acknowledged that she slept more often and looked for how that could be used. A demon sees a standard and pokes at it to see what happens, how things can be challenged, changed, twisted. Gabriel, happy to oblige, eager to please and just compliant enough by nature, was always open to hear her suggestions. And _this_ had been a good one.

Her mind was blissfully blank from her nightly nap, not a single tense muscle to be found in her body, and an angel was doing marvellous things to her with his divine tongue. She didn't want to move, just stay this relaxed and warm and let Gabriel take the lead, her mind too sleepy to think that this was not what a demon should be doing.

She sighed, a deep appreciative exhale, as a finger was snuck into her, then a second, careful not to hit that one spot to startle and raise her. It was meant as a soft slide, calmly taking the time to open her up enough to take his cock with ease. Oh, and she _did_. Gabriel barely had to push, he sunk into her in few fluid and shallow motions. 

"You're so good to me." Beelzebub mumbled as he rested his forehead on hers. Her eyes, pupils blown in the twilight of the morning, leisurely blinking, searching for his. "You're so good, fuck." 

"Good morning to you, too, honey." He whispered with a cocky smile, tenderly pulling his hips away, and pushing back in, drinking in the sounds she made as he set a slow rhythm. Her hands came up to grab onto his shoulders, he felt her rock against him. He would have none of that, not this time, he had been given instructions. He took her hands, kissed her palms and placed them back down. "Ssh, relax, enjoy it." He caressed her thighs until the muscles unbunched, her legs falling back down onto the mattress. "That's it, honey," he kissed her cheeks, her nose, her again closed eyelids, "that's it, let me take care of you." A quick kiss to her lips. "I've got you."

'A prince of Hell yielding to the devotion of an angel.' Gabriel thought, but that didn't feel right. That wasn't what was happening here between them, at all. 'One lover completely trusting the other.'

Somehow, this realisation filled him with far more pride.

  


  


Two and a half hours later, Beelzebub was still in bed after what even she had to admit was more akin to making love than sex. Her plan had been to be a complete sloth, having sex half-asleep, letting her angel do all the work… but it turned out to be something else, it felt like succumb, surrender, a pleasure gained from trust. Mornings were _weird_ now. A demon should never feel ashamed of anything, but the things she had asked of Gabriel lately made her want to smother herself with a pillow. She could try and blame the hormones as humans did, but she knew that wasn't it. 

Her train of thought was stopped by her phone buzzing. Not with vibration, but an actual insect's buzzing sound for text message alerts. She grabbed blindly for it on her nightstand, head under an ineffectively smothersome pillow. 

'You don't have an appointment yet.', the Antichrist's text has read.

Fuck Adam's infallible intuition. That little brat just knew things. It was making Beelzebub's skin crawl, and she was the _Lord of the Flies_ for Satan's sake. 

'No.' That was all she deemed necessary to reply. 

'As long as you don't, I'll forward any and all knitting patterns for baby socks I receive from Aziraphale to you.'

She glared at her phone. 'You can't threaten me.'

'No, but you're not allowed to ignore my messages because my Other Dad said so.'

She sent a rude gif as an answer.

Beelzebub didn't need her boss breathing hot sulphur down her neck. She would have to tell him, at some point, didn't she? 

"Fuck!" She thrashed all limbs and curled up under the duvet, hands covering her still flat middle. "Old Satan won't do shit to you. Your daddy will smite him if he tries."

"You're _adorable_." Came Gabriel's delighted voice from the living room. She threw one of the pillows in the general direction of the open door.

  


  


"Should I come with you?" Crowley asked while supervising the archangel potting various types of lavenders. 

"I assure you, I can handle things." There were four days left, she'd go see the doctor on Friday, the earliest spot available without interfering with supernatural means. He still had time to prepare, if that was possible.

"I'm not talking about handling _her_ if you think that. I mean the humans. Their machines. They'll want to do an ultrasound to take a look at the baby."

The white lavender's plastic pot dropped to the ground. "Look?"

"Yeah. Ultrasound. Creates a picture of it by bouncing soundwaves off of the baby to see how old and big it is, you know, and check if it's missing a limb. Or has some extra, in your case." He flapped his arms like wings. "You'd have to meddle with their tech, which I'm pretty good at, or alter their memory, which I don't bloody trust either of you with."

"Wings aren't even fully corporeal." Gabriel said while lining the lavender inside the planter, creating a perfect gradient from purple to white flowers.

"They are when we manifest them to fly. Or challenge a goose to melee battle."

"What was that about, really?"

"Not the point. You don't know where wings come from, originally, so they might as well be grown and pop over into the astral plane when they're done. We don't know anything about developing angels or demons, we all came into being roughly age forty, and that was that."

"We're _not_ forty." Gabriel looked so offended Crowley couldn't help but laugh. Why any of them were so tetchy about age despite having existed for millennia was beyond him. 

"Try to change my mind, She is obsessed with that number. And mind the _roots_, will you!" He growled as Gabriel essentially ripped another plant from its plastic holdings. "Do you handle your prince that roughly?"

"If she asks me to." He deadpanned. 

Crowley would not rise to that bait. Never again. "Speaking of obsessions, did you realise there are flowers beside _lavender_ you could decorate your garden with?"

Gabriel stared at the Crowley as if the demon had uttered the stupidest thing he ever heard. "That's like saying there are other demons for me beside Beelzebub."

"Great, now you summoned her." The redhead complained as the terrace door slid open. 

"What are you idiots doing?" The prince of Hell inquired with a stern tone, one hand on her hip, the other holding a peach. 

Crowley winked at Gabriel. Oh no. Before the angel could stop him from whatever he was planning to do, he had already said it. "Oi, Bella, did you know they'll want a urine sample?"

  


  


Gabriel was not merely the Messenger of God, his title was Head of Praytell. No, not a single angel dared to make fun of that title. In Heaven, you kick down, not up. It had worked that way for aeons and God Herself kicked down the hardest, as we all know. But here on Earth, at the dinner table with a Prince of Hell, he did get his fair share of ridicule. 

"So, all angels are on your _prayroll_?"

"Fuck you, Bella." Gabriel snorted while filling her bowl for the third time with chilli con double-carne. "Praytell is a mix of resource management and precise bureaucratic communication through proper forms, applications and contracts." He watched her dig in. Somehow, cooking had started to be enjoyable, but he still stuck to uncomplicated recipes of tangy stews. "God declares She wants something done, I go through the files to pick the right angel to do it and send them the order. In some cases, I did it myself, if necessary. Reports of done deeds and miracles come back to me."

"So, what do you pay them with?" She asked him with a cocked brow.

"Angels don't get paid." Gabriel frowned at the audacious idea. "Demons don't get paid, either, do they now?"

"Eh, indirectly they do. Demons are rewarded with fewer threats and more freedom if they do a good job." Beelzebub explained between one mouthful and another. "Bad job, I mean."

"How did _that_ work out with Crowley?" Gabriel quipped with a smug grin. 

"He was doing so fine that hardly anyone read his reports ever since the Ark. Absolute freedom for that little shit."

"Good Lord." The archangel blinked, mildly mortified. 

"_Dark_ Lord." She grabbed one of the rolls Gabriel had brought from the local bakery that still used proper and delicious sourdough. "I went over some of his reports after the world didn't end. He's a fucking lying liar who lies, and we all should have seen it coming. There were so many hidden jabs at management in his files, he was just waiting to get called out on his bullshit." 

"I think they started quasi dating after the Ark." Gabriel mused. At least that was what Micheal had told him, privately, something about Rome and oysters and wine.

"Speaking of your naughty principality, I think he saw fit to file a handful of reports to Hell in Crowley's name while the sorry excuse for a demon slept through several decades."

Gabriel sat down at the table with a sigh. "When I saw so many frivolous miracles being performed by him, I thought he was just going overboard with his human hobbies. You wouldn't believe some of the things he had done to get a certain book into his possession. I always thought it was that. His, and I quote, 'efforts to preserve the human culture and the written word'."

"But he was doing Crowley's job."

He nodded. "Why can't I stay mad at those assholes? They ruined Her plan." Gabriel looked conflicted. 

"They were trying to take care of each other, we can't condemn them for that. Not anymore." Beelzebub shrugged. "Besides, no one knows what Her ineffable plan is or was or will be." 

  


  


Around what the locals had dubbed teatime and once Aziraphale was back from what he himself called work, the four of them were seated in the living room of Gabriel and Beelzebub. 

"I think we have enough books on pregnancy now." The Lord of Flies stated, regarding the volumes stacked on her coffee table.

Aziraphale clicked his tongue. "Don't be ridiculous, there is no such thing as _enough books_."

Gabriel rolled his eyes but kept inspecting each of the gifts the other angel had brought, skimming the summaries on their backs. "What is this?" He asked, nose scrunched at a thick and colourful one.

"A Bible for small children." Crowley said, "You can read the stories of our past to your baby." Aziraphale added with a bright smile.

Beelzebub hummed in unexpected agreement, leaning onto Gabriel's side to glance at the cover. "That's actually not a bad idea."

The former principality wiggled in his seat. "It's one of the rare versions with me in it as well."

"Am I in it?" Beelzebub grew curious. 

"Well, of course, you are, dear." Disappointment radiated in waves from Aziraphale. "Why is nobody reading the Bible?" 

"Because it's full of bullshit propaganda." The prince mocked and reached for the Bible only to hiss in pain, jerk back and cradle her burned fingers to her chest. "Fuck this." She spat and sprang from her seat, waving her hand to cool it down. "This is against GDPR, it's illegal. If the Bible has any information on me, I must have access to it."

"Where are you going?" Gabriel asked, watching her march towards her desk. 

"Suing Heaven." Beelzebub grabbed her phone, scrolling through her contacts. "If they have anything on me in the Bible, a blessed _public record_, I demand fair access." 

Aziraphale and Crowley shot Gabriel an imploring look.

"Dagon!" Beelzebub called out in opulent greeting. "Dagon, listen, get up here." 

Crowley cleared his throat. "She can't do that, can she?"

Gabriel looked down at the offending book and its doodles of a cross and a rainbow and doves. "On paper, somewhere, we're citizens of the UK. I believe she can."

All three man-shaped beings turned back to the pregnant demon.

"Yes, yes, I'll show you my tattoos if you come."

They heard unintelligible words coming from the other end of the line, soon after that Beelzebub's started grinning.

"Deal."

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few things to add: Big thanks to CodenameCarrot for her insight into pregnancy that she was kind enough to share with me. I take no credit for 'prayroll', that term was coined by Eshnoazot. Porn was encouraged by AEpixie7, look her up, she has _more_. Gifted to PeachGO3 as a way to say 'Thank you!' for the amazing journey Stuck With Thee was for me. 
> 
> See you all in the next one ♥
> 
> EDIT: Rearranged a scene for a better flow, contextually and emotionally, on the 2nd of November 2019


End file.
